


The Box

by Roguefemme



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: (It's the Vampire Council of course there's horridness), Allusions to noncon, Gen, friendship in the midst of pain, mentions of abuse, possible trigger for claustrophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-08 08:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roguefemme/pseuds/Roguefemme
Summary: Julianna is dead, Asher horribly injured, and Jean-Claude has been reduced once again to Belle Morte's slave, locked away in a coffin as punishment for daring to seek happiness. In one of the darkest times of Jean-Claude's existence, a mysterious benefactor shows him how much the smallest kindness can matter to those who need it most.***Contains spoilers for the Master's Daughter series through Cutting Shards.





	1. "You must know no one can help you,"

**Author's Note:**

> NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO POMME DE SANG SO PLEASE STOP ASKING.

  
  
 Jean-Claude woke to the darkness as he had for countless evenings since he had been put in the box. It was not the cool dim of safety; it was total darkness, unleavened by any ray of light, suffocating in its intensity. It was only blackness, giving him nothing to look at, nothing to distract him from the terrible hunger of body and magic. It was maddening, with only the darkness pressing down on him and the grawing pain of hunger for blood and for the touch of flesh. Sometimes he thought he had gone mad, and that he would always be so.  
  
There was little even to hear. Sometimes there were cries for help from those trapped in the other boxes, which only reminded him of his own plight. He knew the room with the boxes was guarded, but those who guarded rarely spoke to those in the boxes. The more ill-natured ones would sometimes order them to silence, that was all. He himself had long since stopped calling for help. He knew there was no point. It was only in those times when it grew to be too much and he became hysterical, thinking another minute in the box would destroy him, that he called for help anyway.  
  
It was at one of those times that someone finally answered.  
  
"You must know no one can help you," a quiet male voice said from nearby. "If anyone tried, they would only be given the same punishment, and both would suffer for it."  
  
Jean-Claude fell silent, startled by the unexpected response, then asked, "Who are you?"  
  
There was a pause. "Does it matter? I am ordered to guard you, and so I do."  
  
When Jean-Claude spoke again, his own voice was rough but no longer hysterical- at least the other had distracted him, made him think. "You have been in the box, _monsieur?_ "  
  
Silence.  
  
" _Monsieur_?"  
  
"Quiet now. You will betray us both." The voice was brisk, but not unkind.  
  
Jean-Claude obediently fell silent, and heard someone moving away. But the someone did not leave the room, and strangely, Jean-Claude felt less alone than he had been moments before.  
  
  
  
  
  
For some time after, Jean-Claude pondered the strange voice. He tried to remember every voice he had heard in his years at the court, but the man outside the box had spoken so quietly it was impossible to identify him, or tell anything more than that he was male and had an accent that was not French. Still, Jean-Claude tried- at least it took his mind from the thirst and misery of his imprisonment, and what awaited him if he was ever released: Belle's scorn, and Asher's hatred, the emptiness where Julianna had been.  
  
_Asher..._ Despite himself, Jean-Claude thought of him: Asher's golden hair, his radiant smile, and his beauty that was still heartrending even after his terrible injuries. Jean-Claude's breath caught in pain. Ignoring the pressing darkness, he shut his eyes against the memory of the hatred in Asher's eyes when Jean-Claude had arrived too late to save their beloved Julianna.  
  
Jean-Claude's mind veered away from thoughts of his former lovers. That way lay madness and despair. But in the blackness and hunger of the box, what else did he have but memories to occupy his mind? Straining for anything else to think of, he almost dismissed the near-silent footsteps as his imagination. How could he ask if it were the kind man again without risking them both if it was not?  
  
"Is anyone there?" he finally ventured.  
  
"Yes," the already-familiar low voice answered.  
  
Jean-Claude's troubled heart abruptly lightened. " _Monsieur_."  
  
"Shhh." There was a slight sound, very close, as if the man outside had rested his hand on the coffin. Jean-Claude did not make another sound, and heard louder footsteps coming near the room.  
  
"Which one?" a louder voice said.  
  
"That one," someone else answered.  
  
Jean-Claude froze with sudden hope until he heard the chains rattle against a coffin- not his. He let out his breath in disappointment. He dreaded what he would face when he was released, but he could not help hoping. There was the sound of the chains falling and the creak of a coffin lid. Someone shrieked, and he winced in sympathy. He had helped restore enough victims of the box to know that the sudden brightness was overwhelming to eyes that had grown accustomed to blackness. There was an empty cough, a whimper, and sounds of someone being half-carried, half-dragged out of the room. Then he heard a quiet exhale outside the box.  
  
"They are gone."  
  
Jean-Claude listened, but heard no cries or protests from unreleased prisoners, nothing but the slight movements of the man near his coffin. With a painful effort he whispered, "Are all the others gone?"  
  
"Yes." A pause. "I am sorry you were not released as well."  
  
Jean-Claude didn't know what to say to that.  
  
"I have been in the box," the voice added, almost too quiet to hear. Then he moved away and said nothing more.  
  
  
  



	2. "Why do you help me?"

  
  
Jean-Claude 'woke' with a gasp and then shut his eyes against the flood of pain of body, soul, and magic that returned with awareness. His limbs felt heavy and weak, yet his skin burned with need for the touch of another's. There were times he felt he had wasted away to nothing more than hunger upon agonizing hunger.  
  
So absorbed was he in his distress that he almost missed the unexpected salutation.  
  
"Good evening," a quiet voice said ironically.  
  
" _Monsieur_ ," the word was almost a sigh. How frightful his existence had become, that a mere polite greeting made him want to weep with gratitude.  
  
"So you are still here," the voice said, breaking into his confused thoughts. There was a pause.  
  
"As are you," Jean-Claude replied. He was not even trying to be witty, but his remark was answered with an exhale that might have been a laugh.  
  
"So I am."  
  
There was a brief and strangely comfortable silence between them, until Jean-Claude asked, "You do not... serve this duty customarily, I think?" He had run through in his mind the voices of all the coffin room guards he had met in his duties, and none that he remembered sounded remotely like this man. Most of them were coarse, unpleasant creatures, lacking the intelligence and education that were evident in the _monsieur_ 's speech.  
  
"No, I have been given this duty as a punishment." There was another almost-laugh. "I think if my mistress knew how much more peaceful I find it, she would summon me back to her side immediately."  
  
Jean-Claude smiled despite himself. Thinking back on some of Belle's more sadistic "entertainments", he understood perfectly.  
  
Belle... If she knew how much this man's company was coming to mean to Jean-Claude, she would have him removed without delay. Was the other one of her vampires? Jean-Claude had once known all of Belle's men at court, but there were many others who had been gone before his time, or come while he was away with Asher and Julianna. It was possible that this man was one of Belle's toys, but Jean-Claude thought not; his calm voice lacked the practiced seductive quality that so many of her line cultivated. Then again, this was scarcely a situation for seduction, so perhaps he was simply not wasting the effort. Who could tell? Jean-Claude toyed with the idea of asking, but too much inquisitiveness would probably not be appreciated.  
  
Hesitantly, not even sure why he did it, he raised a hand and pressed it against the top of the coffin. He closed his eyes and summoned what little strength he had, 'feeling' outward. The silver chains were a nearly impenetrable barrier rebuffing his power, but he persisted, managing to slip past it and feel the other's magic like a cool glow. Distantly he heard the other moving closer, and the feeling intensified. For a moment he contented himself in savoring the nearly-forgotten sensation. It was not an intimate touch- no more than the metaphorical clasping of hands- but starved as he was for any friendly contact, it was bliss.  
  
Disarmed, Jean-Claude finally asked the question that had plagued him. "Why do you help me?"  
  
There was silence for several long moments, long enough for Jean-Claude to regret his rash question, but the other surprised him by answering.  
  
"Perhaps because I must care for someone, or I will become no better than those who misuse us." Then he moved away, his magic fading from Jean-Claude's perception.  
  
Jean-Claude felt a pang of regret as he listened to the other man's footsteps move away, and reluctantly let his hand drop. He closed his eyes and recalled the touch of the other man's magic like cool water over parched flesh, and wondered how much longer he would have nothing more than memories to sustain him.  
  
  
  
"Jean-Claude?"  
  
The sound of his name awoke Jean-Claude from the distraction of his inner thoughts. Could it be...? No.  
  
"Jean-Claude, is that you?"  
  
After a few confused moments, Jean-Claude's mind, sluggish and reluctant, identified the gracefully Venetian-accented voice.  
  
"Federico?" He pictured his friend's handsome face, his so-dark brown eyes that were warm and gentle in the rare moments it was safe to show such soft feeling.  
  
Federico had come to Court years before, proud and willful, with very strong beliefs about what men and did not do with each other. But Belle would not be denied, and eventually she broke him to her will. Jean-Claude's heart had gone out to the man, and he had done his best to make the encounters Belle ordered between them as pleasant and painless as possible for Federico. Soon he had begun stealing time to talk to the Venetian, slowly drawing stories from him about his wife and child, knowing from the loneliness in Federico's eyes that no one could ever heal that loss for him. Friendship was all Jean-Claude had to offer and so he gave it, and found that the former nobleman was as kind and honorable as he was proud.  
  
"You should not have come here, my friend. I do not want you punished for me." But in spite of his words, just hearing his friend's voice was a balm to Jean-Claude's raw and wounded soul.  
  
"I had to tell you," Federico said urgently, "I am being sent from Court. This may be our last chance to talk for some time." _Or ever_. Neither said the words aloud, but the thought lingered nonetheless.  
  
"Where will you go?" Jean-Claude whispered, trying not to let despair overcome him. Perhaps it would be better for his friend to escape the Council, but how cruel that Jean-Claude would not be able to kiss his lips or even touch his hand before he was gone. But perhaps he might not go too far away...  
  
"The New World," was the disheartening reply. "Belle has sold me to a Master there." Then his voice brightened a bit. "It is not so bad. Perhaps I can travel through Venice on the way and learn what became of my family. I may even have grandchildren now. And if we are fortunate, perhaps someday we may meet again where we will not be ruled by harsh masters."  
  
"I hope so, my friend," Jean-Claude made himself sound optimistic for Federico's sake.  
  
"But if it is not to be so," Federico added, the cheer leaking from his voice, "then know that your affection has meant more to me than I can say. You have given me hope and comfort where I thought to find none, and for that you shall always be dear to me, my beloved friend."  
  
Jean-Claude was stunned into momentary speechlessness. It had taken time for Federico to even accept comfort from Jean-Claude, and their friendship had been slow in growing. Surely Federico could not mean what it sounded like...  
  
Before he could answer he heard Federico gasp, and light footsteps approaching them.  
  
"Do not be frightened," said the voice which had paradoxically become familiar while still unknown. "Talk with your friend. I shall not reveal you."  
  
It crossed Jean-Claude's mind that his friend had now seen his mysterious benefactor. Did he know him? Did Jean-Claude dare ask? No, not now. Perhaps someday he could talk privately with Federico about it, if he did not manage to learn before then.  
  
"I must go now," Federico whispered. "Farewell, my friend, and God go with you. _Mi mancharai_."  
  
If Jean-Claude had had the moisture in his body, he would have wept as he heard his friend's footsteps fade away for the last time.  
  
   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi mancharai: I will miss you


	3. "It no longer matters,"

  
  
Jean-Claude awoke to coarse tones of a discussion between some of the usual coffin guards.  
  
"'Dunno why we even gotta be down here. That one ain't goin' nowhere."  
  
"'Cause we're told to, that's why," the other guard hissed. "Would you rather be up in Court helpin' to _entertain_ the Council?" His inflection made the word _entertain_ sound like a dire fate, as indeed Jean-Claude knew it could be when it came to the Council.  
  
The first (and obviously not as bright) one muttered, "Yeah, that's true."  
  
"Damn right it is," his companion paused. "Now _hsst!_ " that last sound a warning hiss for quiet. Moments later Jean-Claude understood why, as he heard the two draw in their breaths.  
  
"Evenin'," the second guard offered.  
  
"Good evening," Jean-Claude closed his eyes and willed down his exultation when he identified the _monsieur's_ voice. "Still only one?"  
  
"Yessir," one of the guards mumbled.  
  
"Is this the same one?" the _monsieur_ asked in a casual, slightly bored tone.  
  
"Yeah," one of the guards answered. "'S been in there for over a year now. I hear he's one of Belle's. He must've pissed her off something fierce t'get locked up this long. She don't like havin' her men where she can't use 'em." His tone was not quite steady as if he were forcing himself to sound normal, and he was rambling, giving away too much information. Did the guard fear the _monsieur_? If so, was it a matter of rank, or something else? "He's probably gone revenant by now, and we'll just have to kill him once she lets him out anyway."  
  
"Hmm," a thoughtful sound. "Very well. You are relieved, you may go."  
  
"Both of us?" an uncertain query from the brighter guard.  
  
"Yes. Go."  
  
The two needed no more confirmation, but made their ungraceful exit in a staccato of footsteps. In contrast, the _monsieur_ was nearly silent as he crossed the room, only the barest swish of cloth giving away his movements as he approached Jean-Claude's coffin. There was a waiting silence, as if listening, then...  
  
"Is that true? You have been locked in the coffin for over a year?"  
  
"Possibly," Jean-Claude said, and coughed dryly, a wave of dizziness and need making the darkness waver around him. "I am afraid... they did not give me a calender to keep track."  
  
A soft breath of a laugh. "And yet you are still rational. You must be stronger than most."  
  
"Not so strong, _monsieur_ , or I would not be in the box," Jean-Claude said miserably. If only he had been strong enough to heal Asher without Belle's help... but that was a painful and pointless train of thought. There was a long pause.  
  
"Who is strong enough to stand up to the Council?" When the other man spoke, the bitterness in his words was nearly a tangible thing.  
  
"No one," Jean-Claude whispered resignedly, shaking his head though he knew the other could not see him. "Your accent... you are not French, I think?" Jean-Claude queried hesitantly, trying to deflect the conversation to less bitter topics.  
  
"I am not," the other man replied. "But most would not realize that. I have spoken French for centuries. You are a native speaker, then?"  
  
" _Oui_ ," Jean-Claude was silent for a moment. "Then where are you from?"  
  
He heard nothing for several long moments. "It no longer matters," the other man finally said, his voice distant, deep in thought. "I doubt my people would wish to claim me in any case."  
  
A sudden, inexplicable desire to comfort him prompted Jean-Claude's next words. "We have all done unpleasant things to survive here. It does not make you less who you are." How strange that he could say that to the _monsieur_ and feel sure it was true, when he had believed the opposite of himself.  
  
Again that barely-there laugh. "Have you?"  
  
It took only a moment's thought for Jean-Claude to abandon caution. "Even when I was not in the box, I was trapped. I went to anyone Belle sent me to, did whatever she demanded. Then I dared to steal a few years of joy and freedom, and this is my punishment. She will destroy me, all for spending some small time as more than one of Belle's pet catamites. But in those few years, I found that much of what I thought lost in myself was only hidden, waiting for freedom."  
  
"And you believe that is true of me?" The inflection of the words made them sound cynical, but something, some underlying emotion, made lie of it.  
  
" _Oui_ ," Jean-Claude replied without hesitation. "I do."  
  
He released a breath. "The things my mistress makes me do... I am not so certain." There was silence while Jean-Claude struggled for what to say, then... "When the hunger was worst, I found that remembering music helped."  
  
" _Merci_ ," Jean-Claude whispered as the other man walked away.  
  
  
  
  
  
The owner of the voice did not come back the next night, or the next. For nights after, Jean-Claude listened patiently but heard nothing, until finally he resigned himself that the other man would not come back. Well, the man had helped preserve Jean-Claude's sanity, at least for a time. It was more than he had expected from anyone when he came back to Belle's court.  
  
It may have been weeks later when footsteps stopped near his coffin. In the following silence Jean-Claude fought down hope, sure that it would be dashed.  
  
"Is anyone there?" Jean-Claude asked quietly.  
  
"Shh." A moment of silence, then the voice that Jean-Claude had not expected to hear again. "I have been taken off this duty. I cannot risk coming back again without raising suspicions." The owner of the voice paused, and Jean-Claude heard him let out a soft breath. "Try to remain strong. No matter how it feels, you will not be in there forever."  
  
"Thank you, _monsieur_ ," Jean-Claude whispered, feeling strangely desolate.  
  
"Farewell," the other man said, and then he was gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
It may have been weeks or months later when the footsteps of several others roused Jean-Claude from his thoughts. He barely reacted until he heard the telltale rattle of chains falling off his coffin. The lid opened and brightness blinded him. He instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes, stifling a scream at the sudden shock of it.  
  
"You sure he's one of Belle's?" a voice said. "He sure ain't too pretty now."  
  
"Let's see how pretty you'd look after a few years in there," another replied sarcastically. Jean-Claude registered the voices, but recognized them for some of the low-ranking vampires who frequently served on coffin room duty. But there were others nearby, at least two of whom had not spoken.  
  
He had to know. He reached out with what little magic he could summon- it was much easier without the chains- and 'touched' the others one by one.  
  
There was a low curse. "Was that him? Can't believe he's got the strength."  
  
"Yeah, it was. And this one's got the _ardeur_ , so you'd better watch it unless you wanna be keeping him company in that tub, no matter how pretty he isn't."  
  
Another curse and he was roughly shaken. "Better not think about trying that, skinny."  
  
Jean-Claude sagged limply in their grasp, having exhausted what little strength he had. He knew the answer to his question anyway; none of them possessed the flavor of magic he remembered from the kind one. Unless the other knew his identity- and that was unlikely- he would probably never learn who it was that had helped him.  
  
As he was lowered into the tub of hot water, Jean-Claude felt a strange emptiness. Then the _pommes_ were sent in and he forgot everything but feeding his hunger.  



	4. "But it did gain him something in the end, didn't it?"

  


 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
_"And you never found out who it was?" Anita interrupted._  
  
Jean-Claude smiled. "Not for many months. I had nearly given up hope of identifying him until the night I misspoke before Belle..."  


 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
The Dragon smiled coldly at Belle's discomfiture. "Your vampire clearly does not know how to behave. Perhaps I shall have my pet deal with him?" She glanced at the tall vampire behind her and pointed to Jean-Claude.  
  
"Yes, my mistress," the vampire said in a voice barely above a whisper, and moved like liquid grace to raise a sword to Jean-Claude's throat.  
  
Jean-Claude froze. _My mistress..._ Those words... He had heard those words before. They had been spoken differently, tinged with hatred, but the same words... in the same voice.  
  
_"The things my mistress makes me do... I am not so certain."_  
  
Jean-Claude had frozen in shock, but thankfully that would probably be mistaken for fear. The point of the sword was pressed into his skin enough that he felt a trickle of blood slide down his neck, but he did not even look at the sword. Instead he gazed over it into the eyes of the man who held it, eyes as green as fine emeralds and just as hard and cold, set in a handsome, angular face with a hint of the bird-of-prey in its features.  
  
The man before him was the Dragon's Death. He was her pet, her weapon, who killed for her pleasure; the vampire used as a threat against other vampires; a killer who was feared by killers. Yet it was he whose quiet voice had distracted Jean-Claude from his torment, who had risked offering comfort to a helpless creature in a box and expected nothing in return.  
  
"Kill me if you must, _monsieur_ ," Jean-Claude said quietly. His voice was no longer rough as it had been in the box, but he tried to speak the words at the same pitch.  
  
A look flitted through the other man's eyes, too fleeting to identify, disturbing that hard, set expression for a moment. Did he know? But Jean-Claude's own voice had been weak and thready from disuse and thirst while he was in the box, and they had not exchanged names. Jean-Claude alone knew the secret, and it would be a poor repayment to make the other vampire's compassion known to those who would use it against him. Perhaps later he would be able to thank him for his kindness. For now, he would wait. Surely someday there would be a chance to repay the debt, assuming he survived. It would be a choice irony if he were to die at the hands of the man who had preserved his sanity during his previous punishment.  
  
"What say you, Belle?" The Dragon purred. "Shall I have my pet dispose of your misbehaving vampire? Though it is unfortunate that the entertainment would not last long, even if we gave your Jean a weapon."  
  
Belle's eyes flashed dangerously, but her voice was silky smooth when she answered. "Perhaps I should merely lend my naughty Jean to your pet. I have heard that your Caden is not blind to the charms of men."  
  
Neither of them was looking at the two younger vampires, so only Jean-Claude saw the tightening around Caden's eyes at Belle's taunt, a look that lasted only a moment before it vanished into a practiced coldness. The Dragon sat stiffly for a moment then smiled serenely, a look that promised pain to some unfortunate soul, and addressed her servant.  
  
"What do you think of that idea, Caden?"  
  
"I will do as you command, my mistress." His voice was as expressionless as his face.  
  
"You do not want him, my pet?" the Dragon asked him in a dangerously sweet tone.  
  
"I have no desire to travel the same trail as a thousand other men before me," Caden answered, but his eyes on Jean-Claude softened slightly. Was it an apology? Jean-Claude was not bothered by the insult. A slur against the sexual morality of one of Belle's bloodline was not a particularly original or personal insult, but it pleased Caden's mistress as it was meant to. Jean-Claude had spent centuries around court politics and knew all too well what subordinate vampires had to do to please their masters and spare themselves more suffering.  
  
The Dragon did not say a word, but only sat back in her throne and smiled at Belle, waving an indolent hand at Caden to lower his sword.  
  
"And you, my Jean?" Belle asked in a deceptively sweet tone.  
  
Jean-Claude tossed his head slightly in well-feigned disdain. "I doubt he would know what to do with me, my mistress, if he could not kill me." He watched the other man from under lowered eyelashes and saw Caden's eyes light with a flash of humour that was gone just as quickly.  
  
Belle beckoned Jean-Claude back to her side and idly stroked his hair as she would pet a lapdog that pleased her. "True. Your talents would undoubtedly be wasted upon him."  
  
"No more than my pet's would be upon your helpless creature, Belle," the Dragon said coldly.  
  
The two younger vampires met each other's eyes in a look of bitter amusement at the petty bickering of their elders.  
  
  
  
_Two centuries later:_  
  
A new vampire came into Jean-Claude's sitting room, and a ripple of fear went through those gathered there. This vampire was not a stranger to Jean-Claude, yet he did not feel the same thrill of fear the others did at the sight of him.  
  
The man stopped before Jean-Claude and knelt, slowly unsheathed his sword, and laid the sword down at Jean-Claude's feet. Only then did he speak. "I have come seeking refuge in your lands, Master Jean-Claude. I am sick of being her killer. I am exhausted beyond endurance of always being a force of destruction. I want to keep what shreds of my soul are left, and use my abilities to protect something better. Give me sanctuary here and I will use all of my skill in defense of your kiss."  
  
The other vampires stirred and began to whisper among themselves, but Jean-Claude sat for a moment, marveling at the ways of fate as they spoke.  
  
"Approach, then, and take the blood oath."  
  
Caden remained kneeling while he took the blood-oath, then rose to leave as Jean-Claude ordered some of his guards to take him to his new room.  
  
  


 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
_"I always wondered why you were so willing to trust him when the others were scared witless of him," Anita said thoughtfully._  
  
_"Is it not said that the truest measure of a man is not how he treats the powerful, but how he treats those with no power?" Jean-Claude responded. "What, then, does it say of Caden that he risked showing compassion to a helpless creature in a box, when it gained him nothing and could have cost him dearly?"_  
  
_"But it did gain him something in the end, didn't it?" Anita smiled._  


 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
  
On the way out of the sitting room, surrounded by guards, Caden paused and locked gazes with the young woman clasped protectively in Asher's arms. Jean-Claude noted that she held herself proudly straight as they spoke, and only a slight tremor in her voice gave away her fear. Or was it fear?  
  
As Caden left the room, blue eyes exactly the color of Jean-Claude's followed his every step. Jean-Claude felt a chill travel down his spine as he wondered if his daughter even realized the intensity with which she watched Caden.  
  
  
  
_And yet, he doubted Caden had ever realized that his long-ago act of kindness had set the course leading to events he would never have dreamed of. Strange indeed were the ways of fate. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, fate could provide justice beyond what anyone could imagine._  
  
  



End file.
